ROBERT BEENE
About Robert Beene

 

How Long Will the Cowboy Last

Who will I be
Ten thousand years from now?
If someone digs up
What's left of what I am now.

Will they think I'm a soldier
Or a fighter of some kind
from the scars of
Broken bones I'll leave behind

Will they know I'm a puncher
Who spent a lifetime on the range?
Will they know what a cowboy is?
Is this word due so much change?

I guess it don't matter
for I know what I am today.
But will my descendants know
What a cowboy is in their day?

So when I die
Place me in the ground
Don't worry 'bout flowers
Or friends gathered round

Wrap me in a blanket
With spurs on my booted feet
A book by Will James
And my rope rolled up neat.

Send me to meet the Lord
With the tools of my trade
I sure hope I'll need them
In the heaven He's made

But if this world lasts long enough
And the cowboy way is lost.
Maybe, if they dig me up
They'll remember what progress cost.

© Robert Beene

For Dad

He was my hero,
when I was a kid
And I trusted him
In all that we did

He taught me to ride
And how to rope
I remember his eyes
All full of hope

He was raising a cowboy
And somehow he knew
There's nothing in this world
That I'd rather do

We've rode together
For work and for fun
Whatever the chore
He's there till it's done

"Work done right
Is worth more than the pay
whether yer building fence,
snappin' broncs, or feedin' hay."

"Stand by what you say,
And always stand your ground.
Never start a fight,
But don't ever back down."

He taught me a lot
'Bout cowboyin' an such
In some folks' mind
I don't amount to much.

But I'm cowboyin' now
Some say I'm a top hand
And if it's true
The credit goes to one man

I've worked in the brush
and out on the plains
And I'll tell you fer sure
I'm proud to have his name


© Robert Beene

This poem is included in our collection of
poems about Cowboy Dads and Granddads.

 

 

You Just Never Know

"Don't laugh at him kid,"
Old Jim said to me
"You just never know,
What's there, that you can't see."

We were low on feed
And had come in to town.
When I saw this city feller
'Bout half a block down.

An insurance salesman
Dressed in boots an hat
He hadn't the look of a puncher
And was leanin' towards fat.

Then he saw me an Jim,
We're cowboy sure enough.
This city feller waved
And started for our truck.

I noticed a limp
As he headed our way
And a face that had seen
A lot of sun in it's day.

Well they stared talkin'
'Bout thing from the past
'Bout good horses and friends,
And how time went to fast.

I learned this feller
Had cowboy'd for years
An as a bronc twister
He'd never shown fear.

He'd been an honest puncher
Back when he rode for pay
"I wondered what he wouldn't give
For just one more day."

My respect he had gained
Before he shook my hand
Then gimped back to his office
Leavin' me a better man.

As we drove back to the ranch
Jim told me the tale
Of his friend's misfortune
That took him off the trail

"It was just dumb luck
It could happen to you or me"
His horse had slipped, went down in the rocks
And his friend had a shattered knee.

That busted knee had ended
That old cowboy's career.
Since I heard that story
It's been about fifteen years.
 
But truer words were never spoke
Than the ones Jim said to me
"You just never know,
What's there, that you can't see."

© Robert Beene

 
When the Glory's all Gone

He dreams of the days
When he was alive.
As he drives though the city
To his nine to five.
 
He remembers the circuit
He followed for years.
The bad bulls he rode
The laughter and tears.
 
He recalls the women
Although not by name
Their faces have faded
Just part of the game.
 
It wasn't the women
Or the money he made.
He loved ridin' bulls
But the memories fade.
 
They've lost track of him now,
Since he's not on the road
But 'round pens they still talk
'bout bulls that he rode.
 
The guys at the factory
Just don't want to hear
About freedom and friends
The bulls or the cheers.
 
They don't understand,
He knows they never will.
But he's been there, and man
It sure is a thrill.
 
When you step off a bull
An the crowds on their feet
It's some kind of feelin'
That's sure tough to beat.
 
The smell of the pens
The sweat on your brow.
You pull off your hat
And wave to the crowd.
 
It don't last long
Eight seconds is all.
But when it's all over
It's a mighty long fall.

© Robert Beene

 

The Little Roan Mare

I know you've heard the story
'Bout a strawberry roan,
Of how he threw a bronc-twister
And rattled his bones.

But this story is true.
Yes, every part.
I was workin' up north
Perfectin' an art.

Now the boss was a drunkard,
And that ain't no lie.
He'd get drunk and buy things;
It helped keep him high.

He bought a roan mare
From a ranch I won't name.
"Do anything on her."
Workin' cows was her game.

Now she was bred for it
And had lots of heart.
But as for workin' cows,
She wanted no part.

The boss was still drunk,
And believed what they said,
"Bout how she'd work cows
Until she was dead."

I knew what would happen
When I threw on my kack.
And prayed to the Lord,
I'd stay on her back.

I step into the saddle
And feel her back bow.
Sat quick in the wood
Waitin' fer her ta blow.

She swallows her head
And jumps for the clouds.
I'm still in the saddle
And feelin' mighty proud.

She's sling'n her head
Kickin' her hind feet.
But I knowd sure nuff
That I had her beat.

Cowboys were whoopin'
Throwin' hats in the air.
I went a spurrin'.
The air filed with hair.

I felt her weaken,
And knew I'd won.
Then saw where she's headed
And thought I'z done.

She's runnin' full stride
With me sawin' the bit.
I kicked from the stirrups
Just 'fore we both hit.

Two braces shattered
As we busted the wood.
The windmill came down.
Cowboys hid where they could.

The roan mare was down,
But she'd be okay.
I weren't so lucky.
I'd be hurtin' fer days.

With four busted ribs,
I lay on the ground
They were all laughin'
As they gathered 'round.

I got to my feet
And caught the roan mare,
Stepped into the saddle,
And said a short prayer.

A bronc-twister I'm not,
But I ride pretty good.
With the help of the Lord,
I'd stay in the wood.

© Robert Beene

Robert Beene told us this poem "is a true story (well, pert' near) that happened to me on a ranch just North of Sutherland, Nebraska... I was the newest and youngest cowboy... so naturally when the boss showed up with this four year old green broke mare I was privileged enough to get to add her to my string (They didn't have a breeding program, so mares were worked along with the geldings).  The poem tells the story from there, I will add that as long as I was on that ranch this mare would buck almost every time you rode her. However, after she got it out of her system she would settle down and work her heart out. I suppose this mare is still alive (She was four in 89) and I expect has been turned out on their retirement pasture where I hope she enjoys the lush grass of the North Platte River Valley. Oddly enough, this mare fits into two categories in my memory; She was one of the rankest horses I ever rode and never quit bucking completely. She was also one of my favorite horses I ever worked with. It has long been one of my dreams that when I get to heaven I have at least one horse in my string just like the little roan mare that I cowboy'd with in Nebraska..." 

 

A Cowboy's Request

I've heard the talk of golden streets
And mansions on a hill.
For some I guess that's heaven,
But God knows how I feel.

Me and my Christian friends are cowboys,
And we'd never turn down God's grace.
But cities of gold ain't what we look to.
See, we run a little different race.

We just want to serve the Lord.
Don't care much about money or jewels.
We live life different than most
Though we still follow God's rules.

God wants us all to be happy.
Christians don't have a sad heart.
He made us every one different
On purpose right from the start.

So when I think of heaven,
My pictures quite different at best.
Cause God knows us cowboys
Don't think like all the rest.

So here's a list of things
That in heaven I'd like to see.
But if I'm close to Jesus,
That's all that matters to me.

But if it's not too much trouble,
A couple of good buckin' pens
For Tommy, an Justin, and Dustin,
And all of my bullridin' friends.

Some wide open prairies
With grass boot-top tall,
With cattle to tend,
And calves to brand each fall.

I'd sure like to see some good horses
With Hancock in their veins.
The kind that'll stay with ya
When you work all day on the plains.

I can't wait to ride up in heaven;
To make the first gather that fall.
With all of my friends and no fences to mend,
I tell ya we'll all have a ball.

© 2002, Robert Beene

 

About Robert Beene

At the present time I am a full time farrier (horseshoer) but wrote "How Long Will This Cowboy Last" while working on a ranch in southeastern Oklahoma.  Although I no longer "cowboy" full time I still dayride and start colt on occasion.

In August, 2002 Robert told us that "I'm, unfortunately, no longer shoeing horses for a living due to a back injury when a horse fell on me.  I've been writing cowboy poetry for about ten years, but have recently decided that I'd like to get more involved in Cowboy Poetry gatherings and I will be releasing a Cowboy Poetry tape (Including all original poems and two original songs) this fall."

 

Robert Beene's CD, Cowboyology, is available now!

It contains 11 cowboy poems and 3 songs that are all original work.

"Cowboyology" (tape) is $10 (plus $2.50 shipping).
"Cowboyology" (CD) is $15 (plus $2.50 shipping).

See his web site for more details.

Please make check or money order payable to Lazy B Productions, PO Box 247, Eakly, OK 73033. Please note if you would like Robert to sign the tape/CD cover or his poem in the book.

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